60 Days

Cancer is not just a word. It is a sentence. The doctors tell you a certain amount of days, months, or years before that is it. You have to go through tests, chemo, biopsies, and it all ends with the same fate: You die. You might not die physically, but you die inside. You just…lose it. You begin to degrade away, losing all pride in yourself. You are a cancer patient. No one will treat you the same.

And its not even you're fault, even though you are the one to blame. You are the one who didn't notice the bruises on your back or the lump on your breast, the signs that brought this on. The doctors can't treat it if YOU didn't notice.

That is when it all changes.

You begin to notice everything. You realise how much you have taken everything for granted. You savour everything from a walk in the park to a simple glass of water, because soon, you won't be here to do that stuff anymore.

No one wants this. No one wants to die. Everyone wants to live until eighty and die peacefully in their sleep. Not many people get it in the end.

People are shot, stabbed, ran over, most of us won't die peacefully. But, even though they are dead, they didn't expect it, it was an accident. They didn't get told that they were going to get killed like that, they didn't know.

Cancer patients always know, even if we don't want to.

Why should they? Why can't death come unexpectedly or even peacefully? That's what ruins it for me.

I was given 6 months to live.

That was 4 months ago.

I now have 2 months left.

60 Days.

And that's it.